


Matchless

by phipiohsum475



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Words Soulmark Tattoo, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Soulmark AU, Soulmate AU, Tattoo AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 08:16:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3202103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phipiohsum475/pseuds/phipiohsum475
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wondered if it meant there was something wrong with his soul mate, that they would overlook something so simple. Or worse, he wasn’t the soul mate of his soul mate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matchless

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to http://archiveofourown.org/users/WhichWolfWins for the beta.

Once John learned to read, and all his classmates began comparing their tattoos, John realized how oddly mundane his own soul mark was in comparison. Peggy’s tattoo read _Ginger Potato Pops_ in a orange, jagged scrawl, Matthew’s read _Swaggleberries_ in green block letters, and even Lori, who John thought was the most dull girl he’d ever met, had a tattoo that read, in giant loopy swirl, _Pungent Velociraptor_. But John’s? John’s just read, in a tidy, hurried black font, _Oh, Thank you_. Just like that, like it was part of an everyday conversation.

His mother suggested that perhaps his soul mate would be caught off guard, and not remember to give a traditional greeting. He wondered if it meant there was something wrong with his soul mate, that they would overlook something so simple. Or worse, he wasn’t the soul mate of his soul mate. It was rare, but it happened. If the person had no mark, they’d not have bothered with any sort of traditional greeting.

But John played the part, deciding to greet new acquaintances with the phrase _Demonstrative Equinox_. He enjoyed the way the words rolled off his tongue, and the way the ‘x’ was tattooed on the skin.

-o-

John went years and years with no response. While most people were meeting their soul mates in their teens or twenties, John had yet to find the unspectacular comment from any peer or acquaintance. He found himself disillusioned at the very idea of a greeting match, and slowly and surely, Demonstrative Equinox made its way from his vocabulary. It was an easy enough switch; people assumed he’d already met his mate. Those observant enough to notice the lack of ring simply assumed he hadn’t married his mate; that they were perhaps platonic mates, or against marriage entirely.

John made sure the conversations never got far enough for them to know the truth. He kept to himself and to the army, where match greetings were rarely used. In the battlefield, there were so many other considerations that matching seemed superfluous; although a number of soldiers had enlisted simply enlisted due to the militaristic jargon written on the fleshy underside of their arm.

No one cared much about matching in a war zone.

-o-

After he was shot, John came home with a gnarled shoulder and a taunting psychosomatic limp; the cane stabbed daggers into his mental health with each hobbled step. He gave up entirely on finding his match; barely speaking to those around him, preferring to point or nod, instead of letting his voice eke out his throat.

He heard Mike holler from behind and he contemplated ignoring him. He’d known Mike from before, John knew they weren’t soul mates; it was the only reason he decided to turn and talk to him. No disappointment from another mismatch, no questions about his own match.

Talking about his injury wasn’t much better, but Mike offered to introduce him to a matchless man, and John figured he could stand a conversation with someone who might understand his own plight.

Mike had said ‘matchless’, so he wasn’t surprised that his first words to the man, “Here, use mine,” elicited no response. However, the man’s reply was “Oh, thank you,” and John couldn’t help the gasp that escaped his throat.

-o-

John guarded the inside of his arm carefully around Sherlock. It wouldn’t do to ruin their relationship with the knowledge that Sherlock was John’s match. And John was happy. He would have been happy with more, but just being near Sherlock, basking in the warmth of their friendship, was enough to placate him. He’d never need anything more. He never wanted Sherlock to feel pressured into giving anything more. Sherlock was perfect, matchless and all.

The day Sherlock fell, his heart tore in two.

-o-

Interestingly, his tattoo did not fade. John suspected it was because, though Sherlock was John’s match, John wasn’t Sherlock’s. He expected that tattoos might differ under the circumstances.

Still, he asked to see the body, one last time.

Molly pulled the sheet down, exposing Sherlock’s pale face.

“It’s a shame,” she said, with a sad smile, “I hoped he would have found his match.”

“No, he was matchless,” John said sullenly. No use in telling her his sad tale.

“Matchless? Is that what he told you?” she asked, pulling the sheet off the lifeless arm, exposing the blood red words, “ _Here, use mine_.”

-o-

Relief, then disbelief, then disappointment, angry and back to relief. John cycled through emotions like lollipops during Sherlock’s absence. He couldn’t ask, let on that he knew, but he ached to know exactly what Sherlock was doing, hiding like this.

He compulsively checked his tattoo, sometimes by the minute, to ensure its color was still there. Why Sherlock never told him, he wasn’t sure.

He waited. He would wait til death took him first, if need be.

-o-

John hugged him, the first time he saw him, though in retrospect, the hug resembled a tackle more than anything else.

When his heart came back to his chest, he pulled his sleeve up and demanded, “Why? Why Sherlock? If you knew, all this time?”

“You never said,” Sherlock’s gaze refused to meet his. “You knew I was yours, but you never said.”

“Mike told me you were bloody matchless. I didn’t want to pressure you, or make you uncomfortable. I wanted you, however I could have you.”

“And now?”

“I’ll always want you, Sherlock. However I can have you.”

Sherlock finally looked up; searching John’s eyes for deceit, and finding none, smiled timidly, “Let us get back to Baker St, then. I’d rather like you to have all of me.”

John held out a hand to take one of Sherlock’s, “It would be my privilege, Sherlock Holmes.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because in a world where one's soulmate's first words are tattooed on one's skin, it makes sense that one would develop a unique greeting by which to identify oneself.
> 
> Additionally, Sherlock's first words to John are NOT 'Afghanistan or Iraq?'
> 
> That, and I frickin' love the soulmate trope.


End file.
